


Iwaizumi, Iwa-chan, Hajime

by MeikoAtsushi



Series: Passwords [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol and Oikawa being a helpless drunk, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Heartbreak, M/M, Misunderstandings, Passwords, Sloppy Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 02:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11244363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeikoAtsushi/pseuds/MeikoAtsushi
Summary: It wasn’t that he didn’t love me back that hurt me the most. It wasn’t the fact that I already knew we weren’t meant to be that hurt me the most. It was the fact that I was aware of all that and was still desperately holding onto him, hoping he’d keep a piece of me – it was that hope that hurt me the most.





	Iwaizumi, Iwa-chan, Hajime

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday fic for CaptainRainbowSama (You're welcome I know you love me).

I knew it was foolish.

There were too many flaws that one could point out about my decision, and there were even more consequences that could result from this brash, hormone-driven emotion of a high schooler my age.

Volleyball is my life. Eh, maybe that sounds like an exaggeration – and perhaps it is. At least, the aforementioned sport takes up a humongous portion of my daily schedule, and just my adolescent years in general. It has defined a human named 'Oikawa Tooru', and has polished a boy that knew nothing but another brazen spiky-haired childhood friend named 'Iwaizumi Hajime'. Said boy still looks at nobody but Iwaizumi Hajime.

Said boy _still_ loves nobody but Iwaizumi Hajime.

I think the boy is dumb. The boy is talented. Whether that is volleyball, academics, picking up girls (and sometimes boys), or anything to any suggested extent. My honest advice to that boy would be to move on from this Iwaizumi Hajime, and just gather some balls and confess to another girl or something. He had plenty of friends, a wonderful family, enrolled into a pretty prestigious school, received a scholarship from one of the best universities in Japan, etc. His life was refined to the apex of perfection – and yet, he was still chasing after this Iwaizumi Hajime.

I don't understand. It shouldn't be that hard to ever move on from something – _someone_. I clutched my chest and heaved a breath, feeling my hoodie rise and deflate in my grasp.

My name is Oikawa Tooru, and I am the boy that still cannot forget the love of his life, Iwaizumi-fucking-Hajime.

* * *

 

Despite my flamboyant high school career, I chose to live in peace when I entered university. I still play volleyball, now officially a regular on the national team. I see many familiar faces when I go to practice – Tobio-chan, for example, along with his jumpy orange fur ball boyfriend. Then there was Nishinoya-kun, who was literally so famous in this industry, that he got himself a glamorous celebrity girlfriend that he longed for. And of course there was that crappy Ushiwaka, but who cares about him, right?

Walking down the beige stairs reminds me of high school. Like how Iwa-chan used to tell me every now and then that he kept the last milk bread saved for me in the convenience store, or how Iwa-chan used to scold me for neglecting the girlfriends I had (that I never really loved), and how Iwa-chan-

…

Goddamn it, me.

Amongst my moment of self-bashing, my phone vibrates in my pocket, tickling the side of my upper thigh.

It's from Kuroo – or so my screen cheerfully claims with two exclamation marks at the end.

_**ForeverKenma's: Is anyone free tmr** _

Man, that guy still has that shitty username, is what obviously enters my mind first. I never even remember the last time any of us spoke in this LINE group – when I scroll up; the date is from three years ago, when we all graduated. It was a group consisting of all the captains during that time, or whatever.

I lazily type my response.

_**AliensareGood: You still have a crappy username but yeh :P** _

_**ForeverKenma's: Shut it Kenma is beautiful** _

_**Sawamura Daichi: I'm free.** _

_**HEYHEYHEY: EYYYYYYYYYYYYYY I'M FREEEE** _

_**ForeverKenma's: We get it, man** _

_**ForeverKenma's: Tmr, 3 at the usual place then** _

Not trying to be super insensitive here, but it took me more than an hour to remember our 'usual place'. I mean, it's been 3 whole years. How am I supposed to remember that our usual place used to be the second corner around the coffee shop on the left to the convenience store next to Nekoma? Like, that sounds even more complicated than calculus.

"Ah, Oikawa-kun."

Yamamoto-san, the security guard tips his cap at me. I always held a certain unexplained liking for old people – I think it was just how calming their complexion always seemed, lax in a good way, containing the flow of time within their bodies. "Yamamoto-san." Flashing him an amiable smile, I face his direction. "Is your shift finished?"

"Yes, yes… It's my granddaughter's birthday today, you see. I was wondering if you knew what girls around eight years old would like."

I wasn't sure why everyone assumed I'd be a connoisseur in purchasing the perfect presents for girls – because to be honest, I epic-failed almost every single relationship with the opposite sex. Not particularly implying that I ever dated a guy (although I have), but I really don't know anything about girls.

So I come up with a seemingly plausible response. "How about a teddy bear, or something of the like?"

"A doll…" Yamamoto-san gives it a thought, and a complacent beam appears on his wrinkled face a second later. "Sounds good. Thank you for your help, Oikawa-kun."

"Anytime, Yamamoto-san."

I walk into the elevator after shaking my hand towards the elderly man, subconsciously pressing the button for the seventh floor. The usual ride seems longer for some incomprehensible reason, as I watch the numbers increase one by one. Something within my chest tightens, and I don't know why. _Must be gravity, or whatsoever._

The heavy metal entrance opens, and I step out of the cubicle. My feet direct me to the left, where my apartment room is. My hands habitually reach down for the right pocket of my pants, and I sniff the half-polluted air of the district. It smells odd, but familiar at the same time.

Then my eyes turn to the room next door – and I see boxes. Three stacks of boxes, all crowded around the door messily, some of them open and some of them untouched.

 _I guess I got myself a neighbor_. I wonder if I have to greet the person in the house, but I decide otherwise. I'm not much of a sociable being to begin with, and I'm kind of disappointed that I don't have this floor to myself anymore, anyway. But I can't help but be slightly curious what kind of person he or she might be – if they're hot, I might hook up with them, and… and what? Bang them? Be banged by them?

… Okay, I'm going places. Now I just sound like a sexually deprived teenager.

I left my room for over seven hours, but it still has a spicy tang of the instant ramen lingering about in the air, accompanied with the mellow scent of abandoned tealeaves in my unwashed pot. The plates in my sink are still filthy as ever, due to my procrastinating nature of pushing my schedule of daily chores to the following day. It's a terrible habit, but I can't fix it.

When I see my bed, I just want to jump right into its fluffy looking sheets – but I still have to shower. I had an essay to write, but that could be done tomorrow – after meeting Kuroo and all those guys, I guess. It's not like it's been an eternity since I met them, but it sure felt like that. I refused to meet Makki and Mattsun all these years, same going for the majority of people I had acquainted myself with during my high school occupation. I wanted to be forgotten. I desired to become a nobody in their lives, somebody that was just there for a certain period of time. Because it was unfair – it was unfair that everyone reminded me of Iwa-chan, that everything reminded me of Iwa-chan, and that I'm probably one of those people that just pass his mind every once a month or so now.

It was so, so, so, so utterly excruciating that I was the only one suffocating from this love. That I _am_ the only one still suffocating from this pain.

Iwaizumi Hajime is not the hottest person in this universe. In fact, he's quite below the margin – he's miles below my rank. He's not gentle, he's not nice, he's not in the slightest bit smart, he's insensitive, he's violent, he's too blunt, he's a terrible singer, and he has smelly feet.

But I love him.

I open my phone – and hesitantly go to my gallery, knowing that I have to delete the hundreds of photos that I have of Iwa-chan some time, in order to move on. I can't tell anyone that I still have a separate folder for all this photos, from when he was a toddler to when he became an adult. I can't tell anyone that I deleted all my selfies, all the photos of my pretty ex-girlfriends, but not any single photo that contained a piece of Iwaizumi Hajime. I definitely can't tell anyone that I have to look and go through all those petty pictures of that brute in order to sleep in peace.

If someone ever asks me why I ever love someone like him, I won't answer that question. The reason is rather simple – because there are too many reasons why.

Yeah, yeah, I'm kind of contradicting myself because I berated him so much just a few minutes ago. But I'm just that type of person.

I love his adorable cowlick when he changes into his uniform from his gym clothes. I love how he looks at me head to toe every morning to see if I'm okay. I love how he always remembers to save a milk bread for me during lunch. I love how he makes sure that my kneepads are in place before any game, any practice. I love how he knows the exact moments when I am nervous, and squeezes my shoulder to remind me that he's there. I love how he gives in to my arguments despite the fact that I'm wrong.

But furthermore, I just love this utterly imperfect yet mesmerizing human being called Iwaizumi Hajime.

My fingers fumble for the cigarette that I know is down in my back pocket somewhere. I began to smoke ever since I left Seijoh, and ever since I stopped contacting Iwa-chan. We texted each other on New Years, and each other's birthdays – but our exchange was brief, and that was always because I managed to create some crappy excuse to avoid him. I knew that if I didn't control myself, I'd never move on. I'd never stop loving him, and my life would just be… him.

I mean, I know this sounds freaking dramatic. Like a typical girl in love, going through the worst of the puberty trucks.

"Tch." The sound escapes my lips, as I place the papery material in my mouth. My lighter is on the edge of the veranda, sitting on top of the washing machine that I haven't attended to for a week. _I can't believe it's been some damned three years, that's right, and I'm still not over some dude. Seriously, get a life, me._ Many students at my university washed through clubs and bars near the district. Maybe I could join some group, get some alcohol in my system, and…

"That's so pathetic." I laugh – it's an empty laugh. My cigarette is lit, and the taste of nicotine enraptures my tongue, a somewhat burning sensation rushing through my body. At first, I always think it's the smoke. But then I realize over time, that it's just because I'm thinking of Iwa-chan again.

Looking upfront, the twinkling night view of Tokyo overwhelms my vision. It's dark, but I have to squint my eyes for a few seconds to get used to the beaming lights. In Miyagi, it was always somewhat black. When you stare out a window, you'd see the moon, and that was pretty much it. My sister said Tokyo's night view was beautiful. In my opinion, it feels somewhat… at loss. Like an important piece was missing.

That is when I hear the low rumble of my neighbor's glass door being dragged to the side. He grunts, and I can't see him from the corner of my eye due to the wall that is between every apartment room. I ponder on what he's doing out here – perhaps for a smoke. I can then barely see his angular figure lean forward, as he turns his head to me.

I wait for a greeting. If he greets me, I'll greet him back. If he doesn't, then I'll just pretend like I never noticed him.

But he's silent.

Maybe we're on the same page, or something.

My inquisitive nature starts kicking in, and I debate on whether I should just twist my head to the right and see for myself what was going on-

"… Oikawa?"

I pause.

My index finger twitches, and my shoulder muscles tense up. When I inhale a stale breath of the city air, I cannot taste the usual blandness of dust and the acrid smell of oil. I think I dropped my cigarette somehow because it is no longer between my fingers. My brain buzzes, as if signaling that I definitely recognize that voice – that gruffness with a soft edge, the way that tongue pronounces a syllable, the low breathing that I hear from the corner of my ears…

I know it all too well.

A sick feeling ruptures my body, and I don't want to look at him. I really don't.

But I do.

I just do.

Probably an old habit.

And then I see him. Albeit the small changes in his lean stature, there is no doubt – that the man standing in front of me, his dark brown eyes looking bewildered (that's a look I haven't seen in a while), his hair now a little less spiky, and his face toned after all these years – is Iwaizumi Hajime.

He is most definitely Iwaizumi Hajime, the man I love.

The only human being on this planet that I'll ever cherish with all my living fibers.

"Iwa…" My words come out shakily – I'm pretty sure I was fine when I had that conversation with Yamamoto-san, just a few minutes ago (it felt like a millennia, to be honest). _Iwa-chan? Are we even on that level of friendliness anymore?_ "… Iwaizumi." I gulp the old, childish nickname into a trash bin called my heart, in a form of rubbish called useless memories.

He winces. I'm not entirely sure whether if it's because of my sudden change in behavior, or just a natural reaction from… from an ex-best friend.

 _You lost him. You let him go_. A voice rings in my head – I really want to tell it to shut the fuck up.

Iwa-chan doesn't break the ice. So really, I kind of have to.

"Uh, I guess you… moved in?" I immediately regret asking that, dreading about how dumb that must've sounded. I mean, gee, there were boxes outside, he's suddenly just… there, and stuff. _Of course_ he must've moved in, like, damn.

Usually, Iwa-chan would've snorted. Occasionally, he'd even leave a side comment about my stupidity (I don't think he ever meant it). But this time, he just shrugs. "I guess I have."

I don't know why, but that foreign reaction kind of hurts. It really shouldn't, because same goes for me.

"Um, nice." My words crawl away, as I shrink into the top railing of my balcony. I'm not sure if that was even audible, but I catch an empty nod from Iwa-chan. I don't know what to say. Does it even matter? We haven't met each other in like… years. Might as well could be read as a fucking eternity. Eternity for me, just 3 years for him.

The awkwardness between us seems to pile up in stacks of bricks in a structure of a wall. My mind shouts at me to just get my ass back into my house, where there were no complicated matters – just a bunch of unnecessary furniture and some assignments to complete. At least it didn't have Iwaizumi Hajime in it (that should be a good thing – why do I not like it?). But I can't. My feet are glued to the floor, and my eyes gaze at the neighboring apartment's window.

We stay like that, both of us unmoving and still.

Then suddenly, Hajime's phone rings. He still seems to like Spyair, because the highlight of Samurai Heart starts blasting from my right. Before stepping back inside, he throws me a look.

"'night, Oikawa."

I blink, and straighten my curved posture. "… Right. G' night."

His cheap glass panes slammed against the wall with a rattling noise. My eyes slowly, gradually headed to the cold, empty space where Iwaizumi had been standing. I grit my teeth, and my fingers tighten its grip around the rail.

_I couldn't turn back again._

To me, the existence labeled as Iwaizumi Hajime was like a drug – an addiction. I needed him, but he never necessarily needed me. I craved for him, but he didn't. I still want him, but he stepped away.

And I couldn't.

I couldn't step away.

I walk back into my room that suddenly seems so – so utterly lonely. My phone lies in the corner, charging. I bite my bottom lip because I remember that my password is his birthday. _0610._

As I proclaimed earlier, I love Hajime. I always have, and always will.

That meant hurt – that meant pain.

Hurt.

That word has a bitter, yet humorous taste to it. Almost ironic – almost.

The time that the word first approached me in its truest form was during my senior year of high school, graduation day. Makki and Mattsun had gone off somewhere, with Makki finally gathering up the balls to confess. I think it was the first time that I saw Mattsun almost on the verge of tears – in front of our underclassmen, too.

And of course, me being me, an entity called Oikawa Tooru, this action triggered me. I wanted to get this over with – if I couldn't get Iwa-chan, that was that. I'll confess my love for him, my never-ending love of 15-something-years, and end it.

But then I saw a girl from our class with him. They were under a cherry blossom tree. Normally, the scene would've been the epitome of a "romantic moment". Things you see in shoujo mangas – where the petals fall over the destined couple, and the dramatic wind effect.

For me, it was almost as if the petals were a thousand needles, piercing my heart one by one.

I hoped it was a misunderstanding. This girl was not confessing to Hajime, and Hajime was not making that perplexed expression because he was actually considering this relationship.

But it wasn't like that. The girl said it loud and clear: _"Iwaizumi-kun, I like you."_

What Hajime said next, after exactly thirty-four seconds, was when the word 'hurt' crashed into me, breaking my every bone, my soul, and just… me.

_"… I guess we can give it a try."_

Give it a try.

That's all he needed: a confession, thirty-four seconds of patience and thought – and he'd give it a try. It was as simple as that, but I never did it.

No, that was the wrong approach. Would he have even given it a try if I confessed?

_Probably not._

Look, the 'hurt' I felt isn't probably what most people think it to be. I always kind of hurt in many ways – years of living an unrequited love calls for the automatic destruction of mentality. But this one was more of… what hit me in the core. It wasn't the fact that he didn't love me back that hurt me the most. It wasn't the fact that I already knew we weren't meant to be that hurt me the most.

It was the fact that I was aware of all that and was still desperately holding onto him, hoping he'd keep a piece of me – it was that hope that hurt me the most.

That hope is still what keeps me driving. That hope – that high school dream that wounded me, destroyed me, rendered me useless for months, probably _forever_ – is something I will be bound to for my whole life.

I know it sounds kind of romantic, but in truth it's just really depressing.

 _Man, I'm feeling really down today_. I sigh, as I sloppily put on my pajamas and slip into my fluffy futon.

I remind myself that I have to somehow wake up before three, with the address of our usual place as my eyes shut to sleep, and a tint of Iwa-chan still lingering at the back of my mind.

* * *

 

"Oikawa, you're late."

"By 4 minutes, Sawamura."

"Still, late."

I sometimes wonder why these rambunctious idiots are so damn strict about being punctual. I mean, out of all things they can care about, they decide to point out that I'm four minutes late to a reunion. Yeah, because that's a big deal.

Kuroo brings the mood back, as I sit down on the last empty chair, next to Bokuto. Our usual place is a small café – one we visited during summer breaks in high school. It was like a captain-tradition we maintained throughout the years.

"So, how's university?"

A long, explanatory groan fills our table, and the former Nekoma captain laughs. "C'mon, can't be that bad."

Bokuto retorted, "Well, unlike some stray _cat_ -"

"You're not referring to me, right?"

"-that goes to the same university as his boyfriend, Akaashi and I live- we live- what, an _hour_ away! I swear, it's just plain _torture_ , and Keiji just-"

Sawamura cut the owl off. "Hey, hey, mine lives abroad." He downs his cup of coffee like it's a can of beer, and wears a pissed expression – something he doesn't show very often. "I don't see what's so wonderful about the States. It's only because it's Suga that I'm overlooking everything."

I listen to their respective arguments, and something heavy sits on my chest. My latte suddenly seems cold in my hands, as I take a sip from it. It tastes like… nothing.

"Oikawa?"

The divided attention focuses on me, and I jerk up. "What?"

"What happened to you and Iwaizumi?" Bokuto asks, his face as innocent as ever. I always hated that part about Bokuto – he was like an angelic beast. Not meaning any harm, but tearing me apart in shreds nonetheless.

"Uh," My fingers fondle with the handle of the mug in my hands. "We… don't talk anymore."

Silence washes over the atmosphere, and for some reason I'm partially shaken up despite the fact that I'm the one that delivered the news, like it was nothing. They seem to be looking for words to say – maybe to console me, or just something simple like 'Oh'.

But that's not what they ask.

"Why?" Kuroo inquires, setting his cup down on the table. Normally, Kuroo isn't the type of person to pry. I know that, from experience. But I also know that he's the type of person that never stops asking questions when he feels they were necessary. Apparently, now was that time.

"You know, just," _Just, what?_ "Like… a phase. I just realized that, well, you know…" Something presses against my heart, blocking my pathway to breathe, making me feel numb all over. "That we're just… not a thing." Ouch. It's one thing to think it, another to say it aloud.

Bokuto snarls almost immediately, "That's absolute bullshit. You know it Oikawa. You're not like me."

"Easy, Bokuto." Karasuno's old captain places his hand on the latter's shoulder, but doesn't say much further. "But I agree, Oikawa. You should've seen how Iwaizumi used to look at you."

"True." Mr. Bedhead accedes, "That, was what I call love."

That comment causes me to snort. "Love? Yeah, my ass."

None of us speak up for a while. I guess they need time for that information to fully soak in – and I'm not in the least perturbed by their reactions; it was something I had been expecting on my way here. "Well, but due to some Satan's sardonic joke," The events of last night flash past my head, "Iwa-chan's moved in right next door to me yesterday."

"He _what_?"

"Moved in. Next door." It still feels like a haze – yesterday seemed like a lie to me, too. "It's a sick turn of events, I swear."

Sawamura picks up a bundle of tissues and wipes his hands. "So, what do you plan on doing then?"

 _What do I plan on doing? Gee, I don't know, hit on him?_ "Nothing, obviously. I mean, it's not like we're living under the same roof or anything – we're just neighbors." That made all the difference, though. "And besides, he barely seems to care."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you." Kuroo has that all-knowing smirk on his face again – god, I hate him sometimes. Actually, ninety-percent of the time. "I say that it takes a week from today that you and Iwaizumi are going to be a thing."

"Seconded." The others chime in sync – and I instinctively roll my eyes.

 _As if_ something convenient like that is going to happen.

* * *

 

_Well, something definitely happened._

When I crack my eyes open, I can instantly tell – this is not my room.

 _Okay. I need time to think this through. I went to drink with the guys. I remember that we were at some Korean barbeque place, had a lot of beer, and then I…_ Shit. I don't remember a thing that happened afterwards.

One point is a fact, though – none of those bastards were kind enough to take me to my own room.

Speaking of rooms…

Where the hell am I?

I try to sit up, but of course, considering the booze I consumed endlessly yesterday, my head is kind of a problem. I don't know what was going on in my brain, but obviously it was something along the lines of terrorism. Or a 'hangover', I don't know.

When I focus my vision downward, I realize I'm still wearing my clothes from yesterday. Which means, or as I hopefully deduce – nothing sexual happened. At least that's a positive start. I examine the room – the curtains are open, dangling on the side. Sunlight barely gets room to pass through, as there's a gigantic apartment in front.

 _Gigantic apartment?_ My nose crinkles. That looks familiar. In fact, I am confident that this is actually where I live.

I feel my heart racing. _Please don't tell me that this going where I think it's going._

"Oh, you're finally awake."

Fuck.

In front me, I see none other than Iwaizumi Hajime, with a nonchalant expression as he eats a granola bar. "Thought you were going to lie dead on my bed for the whole day or something."

 _Shit, so this is his bed?_ "… Sorry." Stupidly enough, that's the only word I can find to say. "Thank you for… letting me use your bed, I guess."

"There's nothing else I could do when you were whining about the living room being cold as hell." His left brow twitches, and I mentally curse myself for getting helplessly drunk. Well, there goes my plan for having a renewed impression for my ex-best friend. "By the way, you kind of stink of alcohol."

I flinch, hurriedly sniff myself, and gag a little. "God, no." Ironically enough, as much as I am a pretty heavy drinker (surprisingly, as many people comment), I despise the scent of alcohol that marks me afterward. If I'm alone, that enhances the situation – but reeking of booze when I'm with my lifelong crush? Way to look hella attractive, Tooru.

He snorts a little. "Well, get along." Then his figure vanishes to the left, out of the doorframe – while I still have myriads of questions floating in my head.

"W-wait, Iwa… izumi." _Goddamn it, I hate it how I just_ … He reappears, his head poking out. "What exactly… happened…?" I try to make it sound as pure as possible, as in, 'I-totally-am-not-thinking-that-you-did-something-weird-or-anything' tone. Although I'm not sure if he caught that or not, he shrugs his shoulders and says,

"I was walking by the izakaya nearby and saw Kuroo and the others dragging you out. They told me to take you home somehow since they all had to go, so I did. I tried to make you go to your house by the way, but you just wouldn't fucking let me get your keys or anything, so I just brought you here." He passes on a ticked off look – which instantly causes guilt and shame to pool up within my stomach. I want to throw up, and I am certain it's not all because of the hangover.

Scrambling out of his bed, I stand up quickly – which creates a nauseous swirl in my head, my heart beating so loud that my eardrums feel as if they're about to explode, my legs numb and wobbly under me. "I-" _I need something to hold onto_. Hastily grasping the doorknob, I stop myself from kissing the floor as a pained cough escapes my lips. "I'll leave. Sorry for causing such a ruckus in the morning."

I can't directly see his expression because my vision is blurred out and my eyes spinning, but I can feel his hand wrap around my arm. "Tch," He clucks his tongue, and drags me out to his living room. "You're walking in the opposite direction, Shittykawa."

I know it's an insult – but nevertheless, my whole body shivers in recognition of the nickname.

"Just what's with your change in attitude?" Muttering under his breath, I hear a resounding creak as he pulls my arm once more. " _Iwaizumi?_ The hell's with…" _He's angry. Furious. I can tell_. And almost, just barely, I know the reason why. "Not ever in my life have I had you call me by my surname in my whole life…" Iwa-chan trails off, as he stops walking. I'm jerked to the front by the sudden pause in action, but he grabs me back into position. "Take out your keys."

Keys? Right, keys. My fingers fumble downward to reach into my pocket, as I weakly hold out the ordered instrument towards him. He snatches them out from my hand, and a few seconds later I hear a violent 'click'. I'm being dragged again, until he shoves me down – in which I land on a soft futon.

"Take a shower. I'll cook you something."

" _Cook_?"

"Yes, Oikawa, _cook_. I think we're both speaking the same language here."

Hajime exits my view once again as I gape after him. Cook? He can cook? Since when? And since it was Iwa-chan we're talking about here, he has to be at least proficient – because unlike me, Iwa-chan's always been an all-rounder. I was only able to fully focus my attention on a few things at once – and quite coincidentally, one of those few things was this man that knew how to cook.

But as he advised previously, I sluggishly move towards the bathroom and lock myself up in the shower. Cold water splashes against my warm skin, and I decide to leave it that way – refreshing purposes. And me being Oikawa Tooru, naturally I get nostalgic when I take a shower (don't judge, geez).

He grew taller.

His shoulders, that I always thought were so tough, so reliable, grew broader and held unspoken experience – a heavy atmosphere to it.

He still outwitted me when it came to speaking, despite the fact that I was academically smarter.

And albeit the fact that I had kept updates on his changes, his minor transformation over the years by constantly following him on whatever social media I could, actually encountering him in person – that was always different. A similar situation would be how you finally see your favorite celebrity standing in front of you, so raw, so true, and too… _real_.

My heart still beats accordingly to his breathing, and my two eyes captures his every movement. He is living in me – he's always with a piece of me.

God.

Why do I love him so much?

_(And I'm still the only one in love.)_

* * *

 

"… Hey."

"Yeah?"

The hour hand of the clock points at four, and I take another spoonful of chicken soup. I didn't even know that I had chicken in the fridge – I usually just stuff some things into my cart and hope for the best result.

"How've you been?" He averts his attention to another direction, where I am not in his field of sight. His hand creeps up to the back of his neck, lightly brushing against the tips of his hair – he was uncomfortable.

 _How have I been?_ I mentally snort at the question. _I've been thinking about you for the past three years_. "Fine." Honestly, I don't know how to feel about this whole situation. It's great that Iwa-chan's here, but it's also kind of terrible because we're not the same anymore. And by the laws of nature, a bond that has already been broken before is never better when pieced back again. "You?"

"Not fine."

The chicken suddenly goes rock-hard inside my mouth, and the metal spoon in my hand gradually slips down to the wooden surface of the table. I don't know how to respond – because I wasn't expecting him out of all people, to say that.

Unsure how I'm supposed to react, I whisper, "… Why?"

His back tenses up. He looks irritated. I don't know why, but I can sense it. He's irritated.

" _Just_ ," The syllable comes out strong, forceful, and stressed. He's not looking at me. I don't think he ever will. "Things happened." He settles down a little, composing his thoughts. "And…" When he steals a glimpse at me, I don't miss it. He quickly turns away, though. "Never mind. It's not… it's not important."

 _I bet it's not important._ I lower my eyes to the food. _I made myself to be an unimportant person in his life. Of course anything that he shares with me_ … I'm hurting myself. I'm becoming self-destructive. This is not healthy. Anything that he shares with me won't ever be important again. And it's only been one day since I met him. No, more like… re-encountered him.

"I'm," The beginning comes out as a choked noise. He snaps his eyes back to me with- with a look, holding something I cannot describe – fear? Concern? _Care_? "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Nah." He says tersely, tapping his fingers on the table. "It's fine."

Silence smoothly passes over the atmosphere – it's suffocating. I want to talk. I want him to initiate a conversation – I just… I just want him to _stay_.

"Look, if you're uncomfortable with me being here –" Iwaizumi begins with the worst sentence possible, and I accidentally bang the table too hard. He stops talking.

"Don't." I sputter – pain blossoms throughout my palm, but it diminishes after a short second. Then I realize what I just did – and Hajime's blank expression. "I- I mean, you must be… well, busy. Tight schedule, and things like that. S-sorry, that was just… a… reflex. You should go." He shouldn't. I don't want him to.

_(But then, I was the one who left him all those years ago.)_

He doesn't say anything for a while, and I'm not brave enough to see what kind of face he is wearing.

"… Alright."

Unexplainable happiness overflows from my body, as I heed that one simple word. _Alright_. That's my new favorite word now.

"So, Shittykawa." He grins, "Are you failing your courses?"

 _I can't believe that's the best conversation-starter he could come up with_. "Well, excuse you, Iwa-chan, but I, Oikawa Tooru, am the smartest person in my current majoring course –"

He rolls his eyes and intervenes my speech. "Right. And that's why I see a crumpled test sheet in your kitchen that clearly has the mark 'B' on it."

 _Fuck, I didn't clean that up?_ "That was a difficult test, and I still got the highest score, mind you! I bet Iwa-chan's not doing any better in his classes, too."

"At least I get an A on all my tests, Assykawa." His dark orbs are finally facing my direction, looking right into mine. His hair is a little messier than I saw him yesterday, the shirt he's wearing is a faded Avengers shirt, and his jeans are ripped and old, but he still looks breathtaking. I always hated that about Hajime – he was less of a hot guy than me, and yet just… managed to look perfect all the time. Perfect to me, at least.

"Well, good for you." I huffed, downing the last bit chicken remnants in the substance. "Iwa-chan was always proficient at everything, anyway." The last bit evades my lips subconsciously, and I don't realize it did until the male in front of me blinks with a puzzled expression.

"Proficient." The way he articulates the word makes it sound like he's speaking an abomination with his mouth. "Obviously not proficient enough." He mutters, and I slowly place my bowl back down on the table.

"That's not like you, Iwa-chan." I say in response – and I mean it.

"Obviously I wasn't proficient enough to just be your best friend, Oikawa."

The weight of that statement shatters me.

He didn't shout, say it with a demanding tone, trying to be intimidating – it was nothing of the sort. It was the quietest sentence that I ever heard from Hajime since we ever met, and that shattered me. The pained, agonizing impression in his eyes, the heavy atmosphere that surrounds him – I suddenly realize that those were all caused by none other than me. I was his source of pain. I am his reason of despair, and I destroyed his past three years. That was how heavy that statement weighed.

 _I need to amend this_. "Iwa-chan, that's not true." My voice contains desperation – I need him to face me. I'm the one that turned away in the first place, but that doesn't matter right now. I need him to face me. I couldn't stand it when Hajime was hurt. I can't stand the fact that I knew I was the one that hurt him.

Hajime isn't supposed to be hurt. He doesn't deserve to be hurt. He's too good for that.

"Iwa-chan, please," I push my moveable table out of the way, and reach out to him. "Hajime, _look at me._ "

He does. Hesitation is obvious, but he does. "It's…" I gulp. "You're not the reason why I… left. I mean, it might seem like it, but really, it isn't. It's me. I was selfish, I _am_ selfish, and I just… Look, you just need to know that it's not your fault. Okay?" I try. I try to convince him. And what I am saying is all one hundred percent the truth – it wasn't Hajime's fault. Nothing was, nothing is, and nothing ever will be or have to be.

"That's not an excuse for me as to why you had to leave in the first place." Iwaizumi mumbles, standing up. "You know what? Just drop this; I'm sorry I brought it up. Bye."

 _Wait_ \- I want to stop him. I don't want him to leave. But I have no right to do that. He's probably sick of me, just as much as I'm sick of myself, and… he has a girlfriend. I think. Hajime was always popular. I usually overshadowed his existence during his youthful high school years, and I have to admit that I kind of intentionally stole away the majority of his admirers.

 _Goddamn it_. Tears sting my eyes as I hear the door slam close. I curl myself into a tight ball, and a choking sob escapes my throat. My phone's password, my gallery, the secret stash of albums I brought from my old house – all the ones with Iwa-chan and I – all the presents Iwa-chan gave me on my birthdays, the sensation when he held my shoulder when I was in pain, his words of encouragement, saying that I was the best partner he could ever have – all those memories came flooding back to me, overwhelming me both mentally and physically as tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

This hurts. It hurts too much. I don't think my injury in high school ever hurt this much, or when we lost that last game against Karasuno, forever taking our opportunity to move on to the Nationals, or even when someone tore up my favorite alien plushie – it never, ever hurt this much.

"Hajime," I whisper, as my voice cracks. "Hajime." I say his name a little louder, as if that will decrease the distance between us.

_(The distance increases day by day, and I know it.)_

* * *

 

Three days have passed since Iwa-chan came over.

Nothing has changed since then – not significantly, at least. I'm still a helpless university student not knowing what to do with my future, uselessly popular amongst females when I'm more than certain that I'm gay, and not to mention, that my unrequited love of my life pretty much ditched me back after all those years of me ditching him.

Fuck it all.

I can't concentrate in any of the afternoon lectures, the words of the professor naturally flowing through one ear and exiting the other way out. I proceed to write nothing in my notebook, and then just casually copy a random girl's notes after class. Flashing my programmed smile always works well – and I immediately head home afterwards.

It's a miserable life. And although I'm somehow managing to avoid him now, if he's not going to move away soon (because I'm not going to willingly do that, only because he's here), then we'd end up meeting each other sometime. We're neighbors, for crying out loud.

**_AliensareGood: … I wonder if I'd been better off as a girl_ **

I type into the group chat, absentmindedly pressing 'send'. One read, two reads.

_**HEYHEYHEY: Um no** _

_**HEYHEYHEY: I mean cute girls are gr8 and all and u wld make a cute girl but idk** _

_**Sawamura Daichi: Where is this coming from?** _

_**ForeverKenma's: First off, Bokuto that was sooooooo gay** _

_**ForeverKenma's: But then not rly cuz girls but welp thts not the point** _

_**Sawamura Daichi: It has something to do with Iwaizumi, doesn't it.** _

_**Sawamura Daichi: Fyi, that was not a question.** _

_**I laugh a little at Sawamura's clarification. The Karasuno's old captain always was a straightforward yet enclosed person. A hard-to-read.** _

_**AliensareGood: Sth like that** _

_**ForeverKenma's: U know wt** _

_**ForeverKenma's: Gimme a sec** _

_**ForeverKenma's: I gtg real quick** _

_**ForeverKenma's: Oikawa u better thank me for this later** _

_What_? I stared at the screen. It was a rare occasion that Kuroo ever addressed my name in a chat. It was rare that he addressed anyone's name in a chat – there was a reason why we used fake names in the first place, except Sawamura.

**_HEYHEYHEY: Is he gone_ **

**_HEYHEYHEY: Wow he's actually gone_ **

**_AliensareGood: I have a bad feeling_ **

**_Sawamura Daichi: Really._ **

**_AliensareGood: Yes rly_ **

**_Sawamura Daichi: I think not._ **

This was ridiculous. I snap my phone close, and step into the elevator of my apartment. I don't know what Kuroo's up to – as a matter of fact, I never know what Kuroo's up to – but this couldn't be good. Kuroo's tactics, his way of handling these kinds of situations – he wasn't an expert at it, ever. But neither am I. And at least he has a boyfriend. Childhood friends, grew up and played volleyball together, regulars on their high school team, dating. Sounded pretty much like Iwa-chan and I – except the last part.

I enter my room, and drop my bag to the floor. It lands with a familiar noise, and as the sound echoes throughout my apartment, everything seems to be quieter than ever. _I hate this kind of quiet_. I grit my teeth a little as my brew myself some coffee. T _he kind of quiet where you realize that it's quiet. Because you can't think of anything else._

The dripping of the hot, brown substance is oddly calming to my ears, as I slide down the counter and sit cross-legged on the surface. It's cold – so stubbornly hard, bleakly freezing. Just like me.

 _Emotions are terrifying_. I bury my face into my arms, holding myself tight _(because no one ever will)_. Sooner or later, this love was going to get the worst out of me. It was going to devour me inside out, and consume my soul and leave me with a shell called my body. And I think it's not that far away, because my heart is already with someone else.

_(But as long as that's Iwa-chan, maybe it's okay.)_

Just as I rise to get my coffee mug, the doorbell rings. I glance at my coffee machine, and decide I can spare a few minutes to at least see who the guest could be. A nervous sensation strikes my body, as I approach the door. I have a hunch of who it is – but I hope it's just a hunch. This romance is already a disaster as it is-

"Oikawa."

It's nothing new, but my heart stops, and breathing disappears.

 _He's here_. Alive, panting, his forehead glistening with sweat as he heaves forced inhales and exhales. _He's really here._

"I-" He coughs a little, sniffing. "We need to talk. Like, now." His eyes have a heated determination in them – ones I last saw during our final match in high school, when he was going for that spike. The last play we ever did together. The last time we were ever connected.

"Now." My voice shudders a little, as I repeat the word.

"Yes, now. I don't care what you need to do – this is important." Iwa-chan places his hand on the wall next to me, leaning into my face. _That's cheating, Iwa-chan. Like, serious red card right there._

I avert my eyes to the side, turning towards my living room. "Alright. Come in."

As I hear the stretched out creak of the door transform to a slamming motion, I hesitantly pull out two mugs from the cupboard. Pouring the steaming coffee into them, I try to pacify my state of mind – I had to look natural, like I wasn't fazed at all. _Sounds quite impossible, but whatever._

When I return to the living room, Hajime is seated on the right side of the table, staring at the screen of my phone that's in his hand. A chill runs down my spine, as I almost drop and shatter the mugs in my hands – _my password._

"Your password." He mumbles, as if he read my mind – and maybe he did. "It's still my birthday."

_HOLY SHIT._

Panic surges through my system. "Uh, you know… coincidence… just a random combination of numbers, Iwa-chan. And don't you think you're snooping into my privacy?"

My comment is naturally ignored as he goes on. "It was the same in elementary. And middle school. And high school."

 _He knows. How does he know? No, why does he know?_ "I…" I'm at loss for words. "Iwa… chan."

Then suddenly, he tosses his phone to me. "Turn it on." He grunts, scooting away from the table as he scratches his hair. I do as I'm told, and I see the familiar lock screen.

"Um," My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "It's locked."

"I know that, you idiot. I'm telling you to unlock it."

"Hints?"

"You'll figure it out."

 _0610_. That's mine. I swipe my thumb over some random numbers, my breath hitching. None of the combinations are right – and when I wake up from my trance, I only have one try left until the lock shuts down. _I know this probably isn't the answer. But I want it to be. I really, really want this to be the answer._

_0…_

_7…_

_2…_

_0._

It unlocks.

_It's a coincidence. It has to be._

"I know what you're thinking, Shittykawa," Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, "but it's not a coincidence. That's been my password since I ever got a phone."

"If you're joking right now, this isn't funny."

"I'm not joking." He gazes straight into my eyes – it's as if he's piercing my soul, scrutinizing every part of me, this being called Oikawa Tooru.

"You have a girlfriend, Iwaizumi." My voice shakes uncontrollably, especially when I say the word 'girlfriend'. That hits me with more sorrow than I thought it would. "You shouldn't be doing this."

"I don't have a girlfriend, Oikawa."

" _No_ , no you do. Or you did- on that graduation day for high school, you were confessed by this girl, and you accepted, and-"

Iwaizumi slams the table with the palm of his right hand as he interrupts me mid-sentence. I don't dare meet his eyes. It'd be too much for me to handle. "If you stuck around a little longer with me, Oikawa, you would've heard the rest of response, or the whole story. _Instead,_ you suddenly vanished like nothing in front of me, your mom barely knows anything for some fucked up reason, I try to get a hold of you but you just _ignore_ me like that, like we were never best friends or whatever from the beginning, and you just-" He pants a little, his ears and face an angry red as he takes a pause from his tirade. Then he sinks reluctantly back to his original position and kicks the table to the side. "I thought…" He whispers, and my heart breaks – because Hajime sounds so utterly miserable, devastatingly crestfallen. "I thought I'd lose you _forever_ , Tooru."

_Tooru._

It's just my name. It's just my name, but that's all I need. That's all I need to know that this was Hajime's breaking point – his limit.

"I told her that we could give it a try." _I remember that._ "But I also added at the end that… that I'm not willing to even start that 'try'. That I had someone I'm in love with, was in love, am in love, and will be in love my whole life, and that she was never going to change that."

My heart stops. I'm not fully prepared for this. My face is a mess, my voice is raspy, my hair is all tangled, and my brain is obviously dysfunctional.

This was definitely not the ideal way I wanted to receive a heartfelt confession from my unrequited lover.

"Hajime." My finger touches his shoulder, and suddenly I'm pulled into a crushing embrace. His breath is close to my left ear, and his arms are wrapped securely around my lean figure, fitting perfectly into his warmth.

"You don't even know, Tooru. You don't know a damn thing." He grumbles with discontent mannerisms, and I stifle a throaty laugh. His shoulder is a little damp from my tears, but his hands are on my waist and my shoulder, tight and slightly rough, but just… so Iwa-chan.

I raise my face to meet his right in front. It's then I realize once again – that Iwaizumi Hajime was indeed, not perfect – but to me, he was a man with stars in his beautiful sea-green orbs, his lightly tanned skin reminding me of how much I love him.

"Hey, Hajime?" I smile – and for once, he smiles back. "I just wanted to say –"

Before I can complete my claim, his lips crash into mine, and I close my eyes and we kiss. It's deep, rushed, sloppy, with a tang of bitterness. There is no passionate 'I love you's, dramatic eye-meetings or anything that goes further than that.

But really, I'm certain that I wouldn't have wanted this another way.

**Author's Note:**

> … Okay. That was kind of bad. But it took me a really long time, and honestly I just didn't know what else to do with this long one-shot (actually I just got bored of writing more and just rushed the ending).
> 
> Um, I hope you… enjoyed it?
> 
> Oh, but I'm thinking about writing Iwaizumi's side of the story, so maybe I'll do that when I… have motivation.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Meiko Atsushi


End file.
